


And Yet, Here We Are.

by BilbosBooty



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, also some character traits from the books for that '' 3 Dimensional Feel TM '', and they're using them to fight monsters and not deal with their feelilngs, eventual Geralt/Jaskier, give me all your comments cos I'm NEEDY and I require VALIDATION, no beta we die like men, rating and just about everything else may change??, some extra lore pulled from the games for ~f l a v o u r~, these bois have like one braincell between them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BilbosBooty/pseuds/BilbosBooty
Summary: Geralt is hunting a vampire and Jaskier is following behind him, lute in hand, as ever. It proves a difficult monster to track, but following its trail will reveal more about them than it ever could about their quarry.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Gimme a couple of chapters to set up the story, then we'll get into the action! This was never going to be a short story so just bear with me...  
> Also I don't have a beta for this, so if you're interested, let me know. I can only read my own writing so much before I feel like my brain's melting, so apologies in advance if there are any mistakes.

_It was almost dawn when they arrived at their destination. Geralt vaulted the low wall at the back of the graveyard with ease, and crept forward, beckoning Jaskier to follow him. A crumbling chapel stood before them. The roof had rotted and fallen in long ago, all that was left were three and a half collapsing walls, and a small piece of what must’ve been an upper level. The wooden floorboards had long since decayed, leaving only the stone supports that held them. Most of the front section of the wall was missing, giving a wide view of the silent graveyard beyond. It smelled like rotten meat and freshly turned earth. Some primal instinct inside Jaskier was screaming at him that something was_ **wrong** , _and that he should flee as fast as possible in the opposite direction. But that was all part of accompanying Geralt on a hunt. He threw himself over the wall with substantially less grace than the Witcher had done, and landed on his knees in the mud on the other side. Geralt shushed him and beckoned him closer._

_“The ghouls are in the graveyard, at the other side of the chapel.” Geralt announced quietly, not even turning to Jaskier as the bard dragged himself from the mud and joined Geralt, crouching by the chapel wall._

_“Do you need me to help with anything?” Jaskier asked hopefully, always trying to get slightly too close to the action._

_“Absolutely not.” Geralt said immediately. “I need you to hide up there.” Geralt nodded to the almost non-existent second floor of the chapel, visible through crumbled hole in the upper wall._

_“But, surely I could be closer? Perhaps behind a gravestone or-“_

_“No, I’ll not hear it.” Geralt said with finality. “They shouldn’t be able to reach you up there. Besides, you should still have a clear view.” He pointed to the large section of missing wall at the front of the chapel. Geralt dug through his bag, pulling out several vials while Jaskier struggled to find purchase on the wall._

_“Here.” Geralt sighed and grabbed one of Jaskier’s flailing feet. He half pushed-half threw the bard onto the upper level._

_“Thank you!” Jaskier whispered down. Geralt nodded to him as he poured a thick oily substance from one of the vials onto his silver sword, and drank the rest of them in quick succession. Jaskier positioned himself half-hidden behind the upper wall, struggling to find comfortable footing on the stone beams. He ended up sat cross-legged, notebook out, ready to watch Geralt work._

_Geralt walked out from behind the chapel, making no effort to mask his presence, and walked confidently to the centre of the graveyard. Luckily, he saw the ghouls just before they saw him. They were digging through some of the newer looking graves, searching for food. The first one launched itself at him, but he was ready for it. He dodged to the side at the last second, skewering it against the ground with his sword, and sprayed foul smelling blood over himself. Two more emerged from the undergrowth and rushed him from the side. He knocked them back and stunned them with a burst of flames, as he retrieved his sword. He despatched one of the quickly, as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. However the other slipped past his defences and managed grab his free arm in its jaws before he sent it hurtling away with a blast of air. It smashed through a gravestone with an awful screeching sound, before lying still on the ground. Geralt’s eyes roamed over the graveyard, seeking more of the troublesome necrophages._

_After a moment he spotted a couple more, off by the entrance. He crept over and cut one in half before they’d even noticed his presence. Another turned on him and gave a strangled roar, shooting up spines from its back. Geralt backed off immediately, casting a sign to seemingly no effect._

_“Fuck.” he said, giving ground as the Alghoul charged at him, another ghoul following not far away. He hurriedly sidestepped, just missing it with his parry as a third ghoul leapt at him from behind. The impact knocked him to his knees. He tore the ghoul from his shoulders and threw it to the ground in front of him with a wet splat. Its claws raked across his armoured chest as it struggled against his grip. He roughly thrust his sword through its neck, pinning it to the ground, and cast another burst of fire at the Alghoul, slowing its advance toward him. He pushed himself to his feet while he retrieved his sword, swinging it in an arc as he regained his stance, and faced the monsters. The ghoul was the first to attack, as the flames engulfing the Alghoul died down. It rushed him, this time trying to bite at his legs. He easily stepped aside and slashed it hard across the back. It hit the ground, unmoving. The Alghoul roared again, jumping high and colliding with Geralt’s shoulder. He used this to his advantage and sunk his sword deep into its soft underbelly. It gave a pained cry and dragged Geralt to the ground with its death throes. He pushed its body off him as it stilled. He raised his head and surveyed the graveyard again. Once he’d deemed it safe, he let his head fall back to the ground._

_“Fuck.” he groaned, closing his eyes and taking a moment to rest._

_“Amazing, Geralt.” Jaskier cried, as he struggled down from his hiding place. “That was amazing! Truly spectacular!” he called happily, bounding toward the Witcher. “It’ll make a great ballad, that’s for sure!” Jaskier practically beamed down at him._

_“Jaskier…” Geralt groaned, running a muddy hand over his already muddy face. Jaskier had his notebook and quill in hand, rapidly scribbling something inside while he stood over Geralt. “Jaskier, stop that.” The grind of feather on parchment was too much for Geralt's ears right now, with the ebb of his potions still heightening his senses. He reached up and pulled the notebook from Jaskier’s fingers, closing it with a snap._

_“Come now, Geralt. Cheer up! Let’s make camp somewhere and watch the sun rise! And we can get you patched up too, of course.” He added as an afterthought, stowing his notebook away somewhere inside his doublet and offering his hand to his friend. Geralt handed up his silver sword instead._

_“Keep it out of the mud.” He smiled, taking Jaskier’s other hand as it was offered. The bard began to pull him up, when Geralt's gaze snapped over his shoulder suddenly. “Jaskier!”_

_“Yes?” Jaskier asked, unaware of the impending danger._

_“Jaskier, watch out!” Geralt cried. Jaskier’s hand was torn from his grip as one of the ghouls Geralt had thought to be dead collided hard with the bard’s back. He was thrown forward, head first into a gravestone, as the ghoul rolled past him. Jaskier groaned, but, aware of the peril he was in, struggled to his feet and turned to face the thing that had attacked him._

_“Jaskier, what are you doing?! Run!” Geralt cried, trying to drag himself up. His feet slipped on the boggy ground, and he fell face first into the thick mud. The ghoul threw itself at Jaskier’s torso. He tried to sidestep just like he’d seen Geralt do a thousand times; he managed it with mixed success. He dodged the ghoul’s claws and teeth, but stumbled over a broken gravestone. He flailed wildly to keep his footing, and felt the sword he still grasped in his right hand impact hard with something. A pained wail filled the air, and he was showered with viscus, foul smelling blood. He looked from the sword in his hand to the dying ghoul in shock. Somehow he’d managed to cut the beast’s throat completely by accident._

_“How on Earth did you manage that?” Geralt sighed, almost slipping over again as he got to his feet._

_“I…” Jaskier hesitantly poked the dead ghoul with his foot. “I have no idea. Perhaps I'm a natural!” He quickly regained his composure, sending Geralt a dazzling smile._

_“Beginners luck, more like.” Geralt grumbled. “Besides, your stance is all wrong.”_

_“I'm a lover, not a fighter.” Jaskier said, trying to hand Geralt’s sword back._

_“Yet you insist on following me around and getting into fights anyway.” Geralt sighed._

_“It is what it is.” Jaskier smiled, deciding that now was not the best time to examine his and Geralt's friendship for what really kept them together. Geralt pressed the sword back into Jaskier’s hand, and closed his own hand around the hilt and the bard’s fingers._

_“Here.” Geralt moved behind him, and nudged the backs of Jaskier’s feet with his own._

_“Geralt?! What are you-” Jaskier said, shocked. Geralt widened Jaskier’s stance, bent his knees slightly, twisted him to the side, and leant him back just a little, so that his weight rested on his left leg._

_“There. Now you won’t trip if your leading leg gets caught.” Geralt stepped back to examine his work._

_“Is now really the best moment to try to teach me sword work?” Jaskier said, trying to make the stance Geralt had put him in more comfortable._

_“When the time comes for you to need it, it won’t be the best moment to fight either.” Geralt countered, frowning at Jaskier's sword arm. Jaskier just sighed in response, stifling a yawn as the first rays of dawn penetrated the clouds. “Bend your elbow a bit.” Geralt suggested. “No, not that much.” He sighed, when Jaskier tried to do as he asked. “Never show your opponent your full reach.” He explained. “If you keep your arm bent like that, they’ll have no idea how far you can lunge.”_

_“Geralt, I appreciate your concern for my fighting abilities. Well placed concern, I might add. But can we not do this later? When the sun is up? And I’ve at least had breakfast and a nap?” Jaskier whined._

_“Okay.” Geralt said, finally taking his sword back. “But I’ll hold you to that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, please leave me comments, kudos, critiques, anything! If you've got something to say then go for it!


	2. Chapter 2

“Jaskier, you okay?” Jaskier was jerked back into the present. He sat on a low stool, his hands had stilled on Geralt’s shoulders, as he worked out the knots while his friend bathed. The heady smell of bergamot and chamomile hung in the warm air. The quiet rumble of tavern activity echoed up to their room, amplifying the sleepy atmosphere. The damp sleeves of his undershirt clung to his forearms where he had tried to roll them up, out of the way. Candles were sparsely lit, casting flickers of warm light over the pair, and the last rays of the setting sun shone through the barely open window. The cool summer-evening breeze worked its way into the room, tousling Jaskier’s hair, and swaying the line where their clothes hung to dry.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I’m fine, just thinking.” He replied, resuming kneading Geralt’s shoulders with his thumbs.

“Hmm” Geralt rumbled, letting his head rest back against Jaskier’s knees.

“When you take all those potions, why does your face do that… thing?” Jaskier said after a moment, gesturing to his own face in an uncertain way. Geralt sighed.

“Why do you always have so many questions?” Geralt countered, lifting his head and turning to look at the bard.

“I’m just curious.” Jaskier answered honestly. “I find the magical side of your profession fascinating.” Geralt sighed again, and returned his head to Jaskier’s knees.

“It depends what you mean by ‘That thing’.” Geralt said after a moment. “I’ll be honest; I’ve never used all my potions just to look in a mirror.”

“Oh, uhm… I don’t mean it in a bad way, it looks kind of… ” Jaskier fished around for a word that didn’t mean something along the lines of ‘Big and Scary’. “Otherworldly?” he tried.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt bristled, leaving the obvious ‘Big and Scary’ answer unsaid. _Clearly this was a sore spot for him_ , Jaskier thought. _Perhaps he’d scared one to many townsfolk by collecting his pay still intoxicated on his Witcher’s potions_.

“Hang on.” Jaskier said. He pulled his pack toward him and rummaged inside for a second. “Here.” He pulled out his notebook, opened it to the most recent page, and thrust it under Geralt’s nose. The left page had what looked like words to a new song, half obscured by a muddy handprint. Geralt felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he had likely put it there earlier that day. The right page contained a rushed sketch, also mud splattered, but only slightly. It was a figure, clearly resembling Geralt as he had fought the ghouls in the graveyard. It showed him skewering one through the back, as he shot a blast of fire into two more. His face looked pained, and was clearly affected by his potions. Veins stood proud, a deep purple against his ashen skin, and dark shadows surrounded his eyes, which themselves were deep inky black. Geralt took in the picture for longer than was strictly necessary, shocked more by the fact that Jaskier could draw than his apparent appearance.

“So…” Jaskier prompted, tapping a damp fingertip against the page. “What’s going on there?”

“My potions are highly toxic. It’s not just my face they affect.” Geralt shut the book with a snap, and passed it back, over his shoulder. “Why it manifests in such a way, I’m not really the best person to ask.”

“Oh, go on. Give it a stab.” Jaskier laughed, resting his forearms on Geralt’s shoulders and leaning forward to look him in the eye.

“That looks really bad.” Geralt frowned up at him, taking in the angry bruise now blossoming on Jaskier’s forehead.

“Honestly, its fine.” Jaskier said, rising from his seat to check on the state of their clothes. “I’ve had worse.” He scratched at a bloodstained patch on the sleeve of his doublet as it hung drying, before sighing and coming to terms with the fact it was permanent.

“I wish you hadn’t.” Geralt sighed, his mind playing him a montage of all the moments the bard had managed to get injured in the years they had known each other.

“Hey! I’m here of my own free will, Geralt.” Jaskier said, idly flipping through his notebook. “You’d do well to remember that sometimes.” Geralt opened his mouth to respond, but was almost immediately interrupted by Jaskier. “Oh! I found this on a noticeboard at the other side of town, a couple of days ago. I thought it sounded like our kind of thing.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the back of his notebook and handed it to Geralt, who nearly dropped it straight into the tub in surprise.

“ ** _Our_** kind of thing?” he hummed, raising an eyebrow at the bard, who just smiled in response.

_Help Needed:_

_My son went missing about a month back, turned up dead in a gutter and drained of his blood. Now my daughters gone too and I'm afeared the same fate awaits her. Please, if you're capable of looking into her disappearance, find me at the Golden Wolf Inn. I haven’t much to pay, but all I have is yours if you can bring her home._

“Hmm” Geralt re-read the posting several times.

“So, what do you think?” Jaskier asked, having long ago given up on interpreting Geralt's ‘hmm’s.

“It was a full moon a few days ago, when this girl went missing, and just over a month ago, when her brother was found dead, right?” Geralt thought aloud.

“I- yes, I believe it was.” Jaskier answered. “Because you were hunting that werewolf near Vizima. Now _that_ was a fight to behold. You know I think the song I wrote about that has to be one of my best.” Jaskier paused to take in a breath. “ _The moon shone bright, as the Witcher hunted. Unaware of her plight, the she-wolf was confronted. She-_ ”

“Jaskier!”

“Sorry, carry on. Are you thinking another werewolf? Because that would be terribly repetitive. “

“No.” Geralt said flatly. “I have a couple of ideas, but I need to look into it further to be sure.”

“Great news!” Jaskier said happily, squeezing the edges of Geralt's clothes. He smiled to himself as his hands came away dry. “Now, get dressed, and you can tell me about it over dinner.” He threw Geralt a towel and walked through to their shared bedroom. Money was tight these days, but since Geralt had just been paid for clearing out the old chapel grounds, they had been able to afford not just a room with a bath, but one with two separate beds. This was the very meaning of luxury. Jaskier headed over to the warped and age-spotted mirror to see how bad his forehead actually looked. An ugly bruise had begun to form around the deep cut from earlier. Maybe he could just brush his fringe across it and no one would notice? It was less successful than he’d hoped.

***

He had five different doublets strewn across his bed, and was no closer to being dressed, when Geralt returned from his bath.

“Which do you think I should wear?” Jaskier asked him like it was a matter of life and death. Geralt sighed. “This one’s my favourite…” Jaskier indicated to a blue jacket with yellow flowers embroidered on the breast. “But I also like this one.” He pointed to one with alternating red and black panels. “But I don’t know how casual I should be? It depends where were going to eat? “I have these two for special occasions…” he waved his hand toward the end of the bed, where two identical doublets sat, one in silver and one in black, with crisscrossed striped of fabric interwoven on the front. “And then I have this spare one?” he pointed to the last one, made from a fine purple fabric with angular red and blue embroidery across the lapels. “Perhaps I should get my others? I don’t know, Geralt.” He sighed. They went through this routine every time Jaskier and Geralt went anywhere new. Jaskier would get out every item of clothing he owned, Geralt would say it didn’t matter, and Jaskier would spend fifteen minutes panicking, and then end up in the first thing he pulled out of his pack. Geralt didn’t think he could go through this again.

“I’m not choosing your clothes for you, Jaskier. We’re not married.” Geralt grumbled, sitting on his bed and pulling a whetstone from one of his bags. He grabbed his silver sword and began working out the burrs.

“Perhaps if we were I might get an answer.” Jaskier muttered under his breath. He cringed as he heard Geralt put down his sword with a clang. He forgot Geralt would probably still hear him over the grind of stone on metal.

“I don’t know, _dear_.” Geralt gritted out with forced saccharin. “We haven’t got that much gold left, so I doubt we’ll be going anywhere too fancy. Besides, I think the purple one brings out your eyes.” Geralt sent him a false smile, and returned to his sword with a huff.

“Thank you.” Jaskier said, blushing violently. He grabbed the purple doublet with matching pants of the bed, and hurriedly locked himself in the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter than the others so I hope you can forgive me.

Geralt stood on the balcony of their room, leaning on the railing and watching the sun finish it’s decent over the horizon. Jaskier would take an age to get ready, so he enjoyed this moment of peace while he could. He sighed, taking his time to process then events of the day. He always worked alone, and for good reason. The last thing he needed was for someone to get in the way, to get hurt, to get killed… It didn’t bear thinking about. He had always told Jaskier that he didn’t need anyone, and while this was a barefaced lie, it was easier to explain than the truth. Witchers didn’t feel, another barefaced lie, but emotion got you killed. Geralt could name at least a dozen Witchers from ages gone by that had feelings to thank for their demise. Love, hate, lust, despair; it didn’t matter. Don’t mix business and pleasure, that’s what Vesemir had told them countless times at Kaer Morhen. And yet, here he was. He couldn’t think of a hunt in the last… who knows _how_ long that Jaskier hadn’t accompanied him on. They were inseparable. He’d spent more time with the bard in the last two months than he ever had with Yennefer, and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

He sighed again, he’d been telling himself for weeks that it simply _wasn’t a good time_ to pick apart his feelings for the bard, but would it ever be a good time? He’d always tell Jaskier that they weren’t friends, more out of habit than anything else at this point. They were though. Jaskier was the closest friend that Geralt had, and he didn’t doubt it was one that would last a lifetime. At least, it would last Jaskier's lifetime; Geralt would surely outlive him by decades. Another reason why it was best not to get attached; when you lived as long as a Witcher, making friends with humans was just setting yourself up for heartbreak. And yet, here he was. His _very human_ friend had just spent the best part of half an hour massaging chamomile oil into his aching muscles. Truth be told, Geralt had absolutely no idea how he felt about the entire situation. Jaskier was always by his side, through the good times and the bad, and it seemed there was no way to be rid of him. Geralt had come to terms with this long ago, and just tried his best to keep the bard out of trouble where he could. He wasn’t always successful though, and that’s what bothered him the most. There would always be times when Geralt was powerless to help Jaskier, and could do nothing but watch as he was hurt. Be it when they were hunting a monster, or when one of Jaskier's many partners decided to move on and leave him behind. It drove a spike through Geralt's heart to see him in pain, physically or otherwise. What that should mean to him, he had no idea.

He had tried sending the bard away, so that he could feel like it was no longer his problem, but that hadn’t worked. He’d found himself worrying what messes Jaskier had been getting himself into without Geralt to get him out of them. He’d tried talking to him, telling him he should be more careful, to think before he acted, to stay out of trouble. It had worked for maybe two days. Jaskier hadn’t accompanied him for that contract; he’d stayed in their room at the inn. Geralt found him bouncing off the walls and so _eager_ for company when he returned that they had gone out to a tavern, which became two taverns, then three, then four, and a brothel. By the end of the night they were both in more trouble than Jaskier would’ve gotten himself into had he just accompanied Geralt in the first place.

It seemed there was no easy solution. Concern for Jaskier's safety aside, Geralt had a whole host of other feelings that he resolutely ignored too. Like the way he would catch himself staring when the sun hit those cornflower blue eyes just right, or his stomach would flip when he heard the bards laughter light up a room, or the sheer and simple _peace_ he would feel when Jaskier would lean against him, playing his lute and composing new songs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Those were things Geralt thought he should continue to ignore forever. They were more trouble than they were worth. And yet, _and yet,_ here he was; Acknowledging those feelings and trying to find meaning in them.

The quiet sound of a familiar melody being lazily plucked out on a lute drifted out of the half closed door, signalling to Geralt that Jaskier was finally ready to leave for the evening. It would be best if he forgot all about those confusing feelings, preferably for good, but if not, then just for tonight. After all, he didn’t want to make Jaskier uncomfortable. He sighed a final time, turning away from the balcony and the view if the town, and tried to school his features into a neutral expression as he headed back inside.


	4. Chapter 4

They headed down a narrow, gloomy lane leading into the town centre. The crooked houses loomed over them, blocking out the view of the stars. Dim lanterns lit their way, casting flickering shadows over the pair as they walked. The only sound that could be heard was the sharp clack of Jaskier shoes on the cobblestones, echoing in the cramped alleyways around them. The scent of roasting meat slowly wafted toward them, mingling with the smell of the city; of smoke, and shit, and spirit. Oh, how Jaskier had missed this. A warm bed was but a short walk away at all times, and inspiration for his muse loitered on every street corner. It was every bard’s dream, but then again, so was traveling with a Witcher.

“Oh, Geralt! It’s so good to be back in the city!” Jaskier said, throwing his arms wide. “Back in civilisation!” He sighed, smiling to himself. Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t enjoy being in the middle of nowhere with you, of course.” He added hurriedly. “It’s just, _this_ is where I learned my craft. Though Oxenfurt was a damn sight nicer than this shithole…”

“Sometimes I forget you have an education.” Geralt said. “Sometimes I forget you can even read, with the amount of stupid shit that you do.”

“Well I- What’s that supposed to mean?!” Jaskier gasped.

“Don’t play dumb. The amount of times I’ve had to come to your rescue just because you went mattress dancing with someone else’s partner...” Geralt said, starting to count them off on his fingers. Jaskier chuckled.

“Now, now. Love is a complex and multifaceted thing, Geralt. Who am I to make assumptions about the exclusivity of other people’s relationships’?” Jaskier lectured. “I myself am completely-“

“Yes, I know damn well that you’ll take any set of tits that’s thrown at you.” Geralt interrupted.

“Well, I try not to limit myself to just tits. That would surely get dull after a while.” Jaskier said.

“All I'm saying is that perhaps you should ask first.” Geralt continued “Before you have to run away from an angry spouse in nothing but your underclothes.”

“Maybe you're right.” Jaskier sighed. “I’ve lost too many good doublets that way.”

Geralt chuckled quietly as they turned a corner and arrived in the town square.

“Do you remember the night we spent in Posada, after all that business with Filavandrel? When I had to climb back into our room through the window?” Jaskier laughed.

“How could I forget?” Geralt sighed. “You woke me up by standing on me.”

“Your face was priceless when you found out that it was someone’s wife chasing me and not an angry husband.” Jaskier nudged him with his shoulder, smiling conspiratorially.

“Only because I realised there were twice as many people to protect you from than I’d first assumed.” Geralt sighed. His eyes scanned the square in front of them.

It was a wide courtyard, with a vast fountain standing in the centre. A statue of some undoubtedly famous and noble knight stood atop it, holding his sword aloft. Around it were the shells of market stalls, no doubt filled with wares and produce during the day. The edges of the square were packed with shops and taverns and eateries of all kinds, offering fare from far and wide. From Redainia to Toussaint, all tastes were catered to. A cacophony of smells hit them all at once; spices from all across the province mingled with rich ales, and fine wines, and seared meats from animals rarely seen together in nature.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon about this place being a shithole.” Jaskier said, practically salivating. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal, let alone anything from the lavish fare that was laid out before him.

“What do you fancy?” Geralt asked, letting Jaskier have free reign over this luxury.

“I don’t mind.” Jaskier replied. “It’s not like were just here for a night. If you’ve got a solid lead on that contract it’ll be at least a week or so. Let’s just start at one side and work our way around.” He smiled, dragging Geralt toward a homey looking Cintran tavern.

***

They sat in a small corner booth at the back of the tavern. Empty plates were stacked high on the edge of their table, waiting to be taken away. The room was bathed in candlelight and the warm glow of on open fire. The faint smell of wood smoke and ale hung thick in the warm air. The quiet hubbub of other diners surrounded them, filling the silence during the lull in conversation. The heat of rich spices and delicate flavours from their meals lingered on their tongues.

“So,” Jaskier said, still picking at the remains of an apple pie with a silver fork. “Tell me your thoughts.”

“Hmm?” Geralt looked confused.

“About the contract.” Jaskier added.

“Hmm.” Geralt began. “It could be a werewolf, like you said, but I really don’t think it is.”

“Why not?” Jaskier asked, losing interest in his dessert in favour of the much more appetising conversation.

“Werewolf attacks are usually random; just some unfortunate soul in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not very likely to take two siblings, one right after the other.” He explained.

“So, what do you think it is then?” Jaskier asked, leaning forward and speaking in a hushed tone.

“Probably some sort of vampire.” Geralt replied. “More powerful ones are known to hunt during the full moon.”

“Why’s that?” Jaskier asked again.

“Not through any compulsion. It’s more of a tradition of theirs.” Geralt explained with a sigh. He shifted, and dug around in his pockets for a second, before pulling out a worn, leather-bound book, no bigger than his hand, but at least three inches thick. He flicked through the stained and yellowed pages for a moment, before finding whatever he was looking for.

“Here.” He said, passing it across to Jaskier. Jaskier stared at the page for a second, his eyes scanning over the detailed diagrams and cramped in text. 

“What is this?” he asked, flipping back and forth a few pages. Every page was crammed with information on different beasts, monsters, cryptids, and all manner of other magical creatures. Most of the text was written in a bold flowing hand, but there were… footnotes almost, written in a different, messier hand; one Jaskier recognised as Geralt's. “This is amazing Geralt, so much knowledge in one place. Where did you find this?”

“It was a gift.” Geralt said plainly, until Jaskier prompted him to elaborate with a hum and a gesture of his hand. “When I was still learning my profession, Vesimir gave it to me. It had been his for many years, before he took up the task of repairing and maintaining the fortress.” Jaskier didn’t hear Geralt talk about his upbringing often, perhaps for the best. When you were raised a Witcher, death was lurking around every corner, quite literally. Only a small fraction of those that began the trials actually lived long enough to call themselves Witchers, and an even smaller fraction survived as long as Geralt had.

“Have you ever had a copy made?” Jaskier asked, all but paling when Geralt shook his head. “Geralt! You simply must! There’s so much information here! It can’t just be lost the next time were robbed by bandits or thrown into a lake by drowners.”

“I never go anywhere without it Jaskier, I'm not about to lose it.” He replied, taking the book back and tucking it away. Jaskier sighed.

“One day Geralt, I’ll copy it myself.” Jaskier smiled, relenting on the subject.

“And put me out of business in the process?”

“It’s one thing knowing that drowners are scared of fire, and quite another to kill them with it.” Jaskier replied.

“Which brings me to my next point…” Geralt said. “If I'm right, this is no ordinary ghoul nest or swarm of nekkers. Most people know what a vampire is, but very few can survive an encounter with one. Which is _why_ you need to stay as far away from this as possible.”

“Aww Geralt, come on. You need my help on this one.” Jaskier argued. “There are places in this city you couldn’t hope to go, places that I could wander into without a second glance.”

“Hmm.” Geralt thought it over for a moment. As much as he hated to admit it, the bard was right. Geralt was not very inconspicuous, and didn’t look like he belonged anywhere near civilisation. But Jaskier, he could blend with almost any social class, and Geralt was loath to give him credit where it was due, but he could act with the best of them. And anything he couldn’t deal with head on, he could talk his way around. He had no doubt that if there was somewhere he needed to get into, information he needed to weasel out of someone, or items he needed to procure, Jaskier would be the best person to help him. Geralt sighed.

“Ugh, fine.” He said, regretting it almost immediately.

“That’s the spirit!” Jaskier cried, clapping him on the shoulder.

“But before I let you anywhere near danger, you need to know how to protect yourself.” Geralt said.

“Yes, yes.” Jaskier said, waving his concerned words away. “We should go and see the person that posted that note in the morning, but for now, another round?”

“Hmm.”


	5. Chapter 5

Another round had turned into another three, then another tavern, and another. They had both ended up far too drunk. Jaskier was splashing around in the fountain up to his waist in cold water, singing loudly for an amused crowd of equally drunk people, while Geralt leant against one of the market stalls, staring intently at the floor and contemplating his life choices. Jaskier ended his ballad by leaping up to stand on the base of the knight statue. Surprisingly he landed his jump, and slung an arm around the stone figures shoulders, hanging from it has he hit the last sustained note of his song. He finished, and tried to take a bow to the applause of the crowd. His hand slid across the wet stone as he bent forward, and he slipped from the pedestal, landing in the cold water below. He found his feet after a few seconds, spluttering and dragging himself toward the edge as the crowd laughed raucously.

“Okay Jas, time to go.” Geralt slurred, suddenly beside him at the edge of the fountain. Jaskier reached blindly toward him, water still in his eyes. Before he knew it he was being lifted up and out, then roughly thrown over his friends shoulder.

“My legs work just fine, you know.” Jaskier protested, trying to free himself. He failed miserably; stopping his protests to wipe away the water running into his eyes and brush his hair from where it was plastered to his face.

“Hmm” Geralt replied, showing no signs of putting him down. Jaskier sighed, and resigned himself to being carried back to the inn. Perhaps it was for the best, he wasn’t sure his legs would actually work as well as he had claimed. He idly watched the water dripping onto the cobblestones from the ends of his hair, which was now a tangled mess, and pondered how on earth they ended up like this.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d been thrown over Geralt's shoulder and carried off somewhere. The first time was when he’d been attacked by the djinn. It was also the first time Geralt had called him a friend. They _were_ friends, close friends even. Jaskier was sure of it, even if Geralt was fond of denying it. He’d known it since that day in Rinde; the day when Geralt had carried him for miles and miles atop Roach, while blood ran from his mouth, the day Geralt had carried him through the entire city on his shoulder in search of a healer, and the day that Geralt risked his life to repay his debt to the woman that had saved his bard. Yes, _His Bard_. He’d heard Geralt say it before, when he thought Jaskier was out of earshot, or when he was bargaining for their lives and didn’t have time to filter what was coming out of his mouth. Jaskier wasn’t foolish enough to bring it up, Geralt wouldn’t speak to him for a week if he openly acknowledged the small gestures of friendship between them, but he knew his company was appreciated.

Mostly though, he found himself in this predicament when he’d had too much to drink, and Geralt had grown bored of his antics. At first he would just leave Jaskier behind, but now he knew better. Jaskier always got himself into heaps of trouble when unattended. He would be unceremoniously scooped up and carried off to, well, wherever Geralt would rather be. Usually it was the inn, sometimes it was another tavern, and once they ended up under an oak tree on the outskirts of a backwater village on the edge of the world. Jaskier didn’t mind it so much, this meant that Geralt cared about him, and he would take what he could get. Jaskier was always free with his feelings, it was just who he was as a person. He would fall in love with just about anyone that was in front of him, anyone interesting, anyone eye-catching, anyone… different. Every time they entered a new tavern he’d be head over heels for at least three new people. It was a hassle sometimes, he’d often spend days wrapped in his blankets bemoaning a broken heart, and he’d tell himself that he’d try to be more rational in the future, and yet, he’d find himself right back at square one in less than a week. It wasn’t all bad though, after all, it was the whole reason he had approached Geralt in the tavern in Posada all those years ago. He’d seen him sat in a gloomy corner, all stark white hair and dark amber eyes, practically _brooding_ , and before Jaskier knew it, his legs had carried him over to the mysterious strangers table. Geralt had tried to leave, but honestly Jaskier had thought that perhaps he had been playing hard to get, so followed him out. He knew how to talk to people, how to make friends with them, make them laugh, and worm his way through their walls and boundaries. It was practically his job. By the time he’d managed to make Geralt smile, make him genuinely smile, he’d found much more than an attractive stranger, he’d found _adventure_. Adventure he was sorely lacking in Posada, where he could barely make enough money to eat, let alone enough for a horse to leave that town and never look back. The way he saw it, Geralt had saved him from that fate.

Geralt grunted and slung Jaskier higher on his shoulder, tightening his grip around the bard’s legs. Jaskier’s stomach lunched at the sudden movement; perhaps he _had_ had a little too much to drink. He tried to focus on something else; the way the wind went straight through his soaked clothes, or the way the water dripped rhythmically from his face, or the way Geralt's unbound hair tickled the back of his neck, or the strong arm around his thighs, or the muscles that rippled on Geralt's back, beneath where his hands rested… He always found himself slamming the brakes on at the last second when he was like this. Jaskier barely had any self-control at the best of times, but when he was drunk it dropped right through the floor, and then some. He couldn’t deny that he found Geralt attractive, and would jump into bed with him at the first opportunity. He loved Geralt deeply, as a friend, and he was sure it could become something more. What was most important to him though was the relationship they already had. A strong friendship built on shared experiences, on adventures both good and bad, on mutual suffering and mutual success, and it was one that Jaskier wouldn’t jeopardise no matter how much he would’ve like to sink his fingers into that white hair and kiss him until he stopped breathing.

Jaskier was pulled from his thoughts when the cobblestones changed to wooden panelling, and someone laughed nearby.

“Have a good evening?” the innkeeper asked, taking in the sight of the soaked and dishevelled bard slung over his friend’s shoulder.

“Hmm” Geralt growled, walking past him and heading for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the actual monster hunting plot starts in the next chapter, I promise. I just wanted to catch up with how they both felt before we started :)


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Jaskier was aware of was how much his head hurt. More than a usual hangover, that was for sure. He ran his hand across his face with a groan, feeling the tender lump that had formed on his forehead from his adventure in the graveyard the previous morning. He cracked his eyes open, swallowing the wave of nausea that washed over him. He watched the room spin for a moment, before slowly sitting up. Geralt's bed was empty. The covers were thrown back in a heap, and the Witcher’s boots were nowhere to be seen. No doubt he’s already headed downstairs for breakfast, Jaskier thought. Damn his Witchers’ constitution. Jaskier had only seen Geralt with a hangover once, and that was when he’d spent the whole night mixing herbs into his drinks. Jaskier sighed, dragging himself from the bed and over to the bathroom to clean up, inspect his bruises, and perhaps be sick… you know, the usual.

Not long after, the door to their room slammed open. Jaskier winced at the loud bang as it echoed through the wall.

“Jaskier!” Geralt's voice called. Jaskier stumbled out of the bathroom, dressed only in his undershirt, which hung off one shoulder and draped down to mid-thigh.

“Hmm, yes?” he asked. Geralt stood before him, fully dressed, swords on his back, holding a plate and mug out in front of him.

“I got you breakfast,” Geralt handed him the plate. “and I made you this, figured you’d need it.” He passed over the mug. Jaskier looked into it questioningly; a full stick of celery stuck out of the top. He sniffed at it. It smelled of tomato and something vaguely alcoholic.

“Geralt…” Jaskier began. “I thought you were good at alchemy? There’s a whole plant sticking out of this?”

“Just try it.” Geralt laughed. “It’ll take the edge off.” Jaskier sat back on his bed and dug in.

***

After his meal, Jaskier felt much more human. He’d dressed quickly, wearing his favourite doublet, a striking blue with buttercups and dandelions embroidered across the chest. They’d left the inn soon after, heading off to The Golden Wolf, where the issuer of the contract had said they would be found. It was a dingy, cramped tavern on the seedy side of town. Dim light from grimy windows barely lit the place, and thick, foul smelling candles sat along the bar, dripping wax onto the floor in great pools. A couple of scantily clad, grungy looking women milled around the patrons, looking for their next customers. The air practically tasted of stale booze and pipe smoke, reminding Jaskier of the taverns he used to work in before he’d met Geralt. The general hubbub of men drinking and talking stopped abruptly as the pair entered, and all eyes turned to them. Jaskier felt their eyes boring into the back of his head as he and Geralt approached the bar. Geralt nodded to the innkeeper.

“What'll it be, Witcher?” the innkeeper asked, pulling a pair of grubby mugs from under the counter.

“We’ll have whatever’s good.” Geralt answered before Jaskier could even open his mouth to refuse. The innkeeper nodded and poured them some unrecognisable brown brew. “We’re looking for someone, posted this.” Geralt showed the contract to the innkeeper.

“I pour drinks Witcher, ain’t got no reason to be able to read.” The innkeeper snorted at the note in Geralt's hand.

“It says their son went missing, and now their daughter too. Offering a reward to find them.” Geralt explained patiently.

“Ah, you’ll want Alvin. He should be over there somewhere.” The innkeeper gestured to one of the far tables by the window, occupied by a lone figure. 

“Thank you.” Geralt said, taking his drink and nudging Jaskier to do the same. He dropped a few pennies onto the bar, covering their drinks and a little extra for the information, and turned away.

They walked across the tavern as the conversation slowly began to pick up again. They stopped at the side of the lone man’s table. He looked up with tearful eyes. 

“You posted this.” Geralt said, holding out the flyer.

“I… Oh Melitele, you're a Witcher?” The man looked between Geralt and the flyer. “Does that mean?... Oh, my poor Lucy!” He buried his face in his hands and openly sobbed. Geralt sighed and looked away, folding his arms across his chest. Jaskier felt his heart break just a little bit. He pushed past Geralt's shoulder and slid onto the bench opposite the grieving man. Surprisingly, Geralt made no move to stop him. Usually the Witcher tolerated no interference in his contracts, whether it was during a fight, investigations, or negotiations. Jaskier let the man be for a moment, until he regained some of his composure.

“My name is Jaskier.” Jaskier said after a moment. “And this is my friend, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Alvin,” the man nodded, sniffling. “Miller by trade.” Jaskier risked a glance up to Geralt, who only gave him a small nod, and busied himself polishing his medallion, cleaning his fingernails, and generally not interrupting.

“Alvin.” Jaskier smiled kindly, giving the man in front of him his full attention. “Could you start from the beginning? Tell us everything you know about what happened to Lucy.” Alvin took a shaky breath.

“It was about a week ago, she went out one night, to see her gentleman friend, and she never came home.” Alvin sighed. “I know what you're thinking, sir, but he’s not like that, her friend. She’s known him since she were a youngen. They’ve been sweet on each other for years, and he’s just as torn up about her going missing as the rest of us.” He paused, looking up at the sky through the murky window, tears leaving streaky tracks down his cheeks.

“I understand.” Jaskier said softly. “Who’s her friend? Might we speak to him?”

“He- he lives by the river...” Alvin nodded. “across town from us, past the markets. We’re up by the old windmill.”

“What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, pulling out his notebook and jotting down what the man was saying.

“Bartch, some of his friends call him Calico on account of his fashion.” Alvin said. Jaskier opened his mouth to ask more questions, when he was pushed along the bench by his shoulder. Geralt sat down beside him, sliding him aside so they were now both opposite Alvin.

Jaskier's thoughts ground to a halt. All he could focus on was the heat seeping through Geralt's armour, which was pressed into his right side. Jaskier tried to edge away, but found himself trapped between Geralt and the wall. Geralt, to his credit, seemed entirely unaware, or uncaring, of how he was invading Jaskier's space, just how much of their bodies were in contact, and just _what_ it was doing to the poor bard. Jaskier felt the heat rising in his cheeks, and just hoped to the gods that Geralt was too focused on what the Miller was saying to notice the way Jaskier fell silent and practically _squirmed_ in his seat.

“What do you remember from that night?” Geralt asked, apparently incapable of concealing his curiosity any longer. “We need everything, what she looks like, what she wore, the last things you spoke about, what happened when she left, did you notice anything strange that night or since?”

“She- She’s tall.” Alvin stuttered, taken aback. “Short dark hair, to her jaw. Blue eyes, slim figure.” Geralt took the notebook and quill from Jaskier’s hands and began taking his own notes, nodding occasionally as Alvin spoke. “She wore her favourite dress, mustard yellow with those frills all the girls are so fond of at the cuffs. It had purple flowers around the neck.” Alvin paused for a moment, thinking. “She had her hair done up all nice, and wore some new perfume she bought that day at the market. She was supposed to be going dancing with Bartch. Me and my wife, we told her to have fun, to be back by midnight, to make sure Bartch walked her home, to send our love to her friends…” He took a shaky breath. “And she left. She left, Sir, and we never saw her again.”

“Have you noticed anything strange, unusual?” Geralt asked. “Anything out of place?”

“Aside from our daughter not being here, you mean?” The miller smiled sadly. “No, Witcher Sir, I haven’t. The world seems to just be going on as normal without her.” He put his head in his hands and sobbed brokenly.

“And your son, what happened to him?” Geralt asked, not giving the miller so much as a moment to recover.

“Geralt, please.” Jaskier said reproachfully. “Have some compassion.”

“No, no.” Alvin said, regaining his composure. “He does right; he’s got to do his job. And the faster I can tell you all you need, the faster you can find my Lucy.” Jaskier nodded, smiling sadly.

“We’ll find her as fast as we can.” Jaskier assured him. Geralt kicked Jaskier under the table, throwing him a glare.

“Your son?” Geralt prompted.

“Oh, yes. It was nigh on a month ago, he’d been at a business meeting in the town centre which ran late. He fancied himself a proper business man, wearing fine silks, investing in this and that, turning a profit every now and then. He’d left that meeting, but not arrived home. Been waylaid by... something on his way back. They found his body in a sewage drain two weeks later. The guard said it was probably murder, but his body was too-” Alvin swallowed thickly. “They couldn’t rightly say, by the state of him. But Witcher, I tell you, I’ve never seen a man make those kinds of wounds.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “He had this big hole in his throat.” Alvin indicated to the side of his neck. “Not clean mind, it looked like an animal attack, but in the city, not likely. He was a white as a sheet, no blood left in him, the coroner said...”

“What did he look like, before the attack, as you knew him?” Jaskier asked.

“Why, Piotr was the spitting image of Lucy, and two years her senior. They were so alike…” Alvin explained. Geralt noted something down.

“His business associates, could you name them?” Geralt asked.

“Aye, a couple.” Alvin answered. “There was Wiseham and Gotaard, who he dealt with regularly, and a big chap who always wears a red cap, don’t know his name, but you’ll find them all in the market.”

“The coroner you mentioned,” Geralt began. “Are they the only one in town?”

“Yes…” Alvin answered. “Though I think she has an apprentice.” Geralt nodded, writing quickly in Jaskier's notebook. “Do you need anything else?” Alvin asked. “It’s just, I should probably go to my wife, tell her someone’s looking into it, be there for her, you understand, Sirs?” he rose from the table to make his leave. Jaskier nodded and was about to say his goodbyes.

“One last thing…” Geralt said.

“Yes?” Alvin asked, half out of his seat.

“Your son, has there been a burial yet?” Geralt asked with a vague air of sympathy. Alvin paled.

“Yes, this week just gone.” He sighed. “Please, Witcher Sir, understand. We have no closure for the death of our son, while we don’t know what happened to him. And our daughter we just want back home safe. Please Sirs, find her.”

“If she is there to be found, we’ll find her.” Geralt assured him, though it seemed to bring him little comfort.

“Good day.” Alvin said, wiping fresh tears from his cheeks.

They sat in silence for a while after the miller left, Geralt was scribbling away intently in Jaskier's notebook, while Jaskier sipped at his drink. After a few moments a barmaid arrived at their table, a pitcher in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. She began laying out the table for them to eat, and set a large fish pie in between them.

“Excuse me miss, but we didn’t order anything.” Jaskier said, catching her arm as she placed the pie down.

“It’s on the house.” She smiled. Jaskier gawped at her, and even Geralt looked up from his writing, utterly unused to kindness of any sort from strangers. “Consider it a thank you.” She said. “Alvin’s been sitting here, at his wits end since Lucy went missing. And no one’s tried to help him. We appreciate what you’re doing for him; he’s one of our own.”

“Please, let me-” Geralt began, taking out his coin purse.

“I won’t hear of it.” She said, pushing the purse back into his hand. “You’ve sat with that poor man for half an hour, getting all the details, letting him talk about the shit that’s befallen his family; just listening to him. Around here, we don’t care much who you are, Sir.” She gave Geralt a pointed look. “If you're good to us, were good to you.”

“Well, thank you very much.” Jaskier said, flashing her a dazzling smile.

***

They had dug into their meal, and it turned out to be a lot tastier than they had expected. Even though the place had a rough exterior, the food and drink were good, and the people seemed to be made of solid stuff.

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, his mouth full of fish pie.

“Hmm?” Geralt replied, his mouth equally full.

“Now, I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but you're being awfully willing to let me help with your work.” Jaskier said. “Is there any reason for this sudden change of heart?” Geralt was silent for a moment.

“I’ve thought about what you said, Jaskier.” Geralt said. “I try not to make a habit of hunting monsters in cities, where there are innocent bystanders that might get hurt.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed you like to hunt monsters where there isn’t a decent bed for fifty miles in any direction.” Jaskier replied.

“Don’t push your luck.” Geralt said. “Every time I take a contract in a city, people end up getting hurt, so, that’s where I need you. I hate to admit it, but your solutions seem to be less conflict based than mine.” Jaskier was stunned into silence for a moment.

“You mean to say, that not only are you letting me accompany you while you work, but I'm working with you?” Jaskier clarified, mainly for his own benefit.

“Yes.” Geralt said. “I’m not used to the city, and sacrificing innocent lives due to my own shortcomings isn’t something I want to repeat.” Jaskier nodded slowly.

“I need another drink.” He sighed, waving to the barmaid as she passed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this ones a little shorter than usual, I lost my motivation half way through so went back and started it again.

They had finished up their lunch and the table now lay scattered with papers. Some of which Geralt had filled while talking to the miller, others full of idle scribbles and thoughts as they tried to piece together all the information they had.

“Why have I never seen you do all this?” Jaskier asked, gesturing to papers scattered across the table.

“I’ve been doing this job a while.” Geralt sighed. “I don’t need to write it down anymore, I just do it in here.” He tapped his forehead.

“You mean, you're doing this for my benefit?” Jaskier asked, shocked.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded.

“Why Geralt, you are _full_ of surprises.” Jaskier smiled. Geralt busied himself organising the sheets in front of him.

“I think we should go to see Bartch first.” Geralt said. “If we’ve any hope of finding the girl alive, which I don’t think we do if I'm being honest, we should start after her as soon as possible.”

“What makes you so sure she’s not alive?” Jaskier asked. Geralt slid his small leather bestiary toward him. It lay open on the pages on Higher Vampires.

“Assuming…” Geralt began. “That this vampire hunts on the full moon. The last full moon was over a week ago, so in my _professional_ opinion, she’s long dead.”

“Why’s that?” Jaskier countered. “Would she not be kept as a food source perhaps?”

“They don’t tend to last longer than a few hours.” Geralt said nonchalantly, digging through the papers in search of something. “A human only has so much blood.” Jaskier paled. “Her father said she was slim, so it follows that she would have considerably less blood than say… me for instance. It only takes losing around half to put a human in dire trouble, three quarters and there’s little hope.” Geralt continued. “I’ve never known vampires to show any great self-control.”

“Oh.” Jaskier said quietly.

***

They headed across town to speak with Bartch as soon as they were done at the tavern. The tall, narrow city streets gradually widened out into winding lanes as they passed through the city gates. The quiet trickle of a river could be heard over the rustle of long meadow grasses and the singing of birds. Jaskier walked beside Geralt, playing a familiar melody on his lute, and humming along to parts.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Geralt asked as the walked across a narrow stone bridge. “We need to know what they did in town, if anyone was following them, where he last saw her, if she was acting strangely, and the last things they talked about.” He listed. Jaskier nodded. They came to a stop at a group of cosy looking houses.

“He must live around here somewhere.” Jaskier said, walking confidently toward an old lady who stood in her yard, sweeping hay back into a chicken coop.

“Good afternoon, Madam” Jaskier smiled with a sweeping bow. “My friend and I are looking for a young man named Bartch, the miller said he lived around here.” The old lady eyed Geralt warily as he stood at Jaskier's shoulder. “We only with to talk to him.” Jaskier explained, seeing her obvious discomfort. “It’s about his missing lady friend, Lucy.” The old woman’s face softened slightly at Jaskier's honest smile.

“You mean Calico? Aye, he lives in the last house on the block, yonder.” She gestured along the road with a sweep of her arm. “The one with the sunflowers.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Jaskier smiled, pressing a few coppers into her hand with a smile. Geralt took a moment to appreciate how much easier this was than usual. He should’ve brought Jaskier along an age ago. Jaskier strummed a pleasant tune on his lute as the wandered further down the road, the music softening the harsh looks being thrown at the Witcher.

“The one with the sunflowers… The one with the sunflowers...” Jaskier was muttering under his breath, carefully inspecting the houses as they went. They reached the end of the row of buildings and there stood a modest wooden house with a row of sunflowers growing against the front wall. A washing line was suspended in the fenced off garden, with several damp doublets swaying in the summer breeze. They were all brightly coloured, with gaudy decorations. Jaskier smiled triumphantly and strode through the garden to knock on the door immediately, without even waiting for Geralt to catch up to him.

The door swung open as Geralt closed the garden gate behind him. There stood a young man, barely out of his teens, with dirty blonde hair that stuck up in thick curls, as if he’d just gotten out of bed, and rich brown eyes surrounded by dark shadows. He was dressed in simple brown pants and a dark green undershirt that had seen better days, though it was richly decorated if a bit worn.

“Good morning?” he said, eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.” Geralt quipped form behind the bard as he walked down the garden path. Jaskier turned with a sigh and gave him a disapproving look.

“Good afternoon then, Sirs.” He replied, nodding to them both. “What can I do for you? I'm not really prepared for taking guests at the moment.”

“Not a problem!” Jaskier smiled. “We won’t be long. We just have a couple of questions for you, about Lucy.”

“I… I see.” The man replied. “Come in.” He stepped back, allowing them over the threshold.

The room was dark, the curtains were drawn over the windows and a musty smell hung in the air, as if the house hadn’t seen fresh air for days. A comfortable looking sofa sat against the wall opposite the fireplace, blankets were strewn across it as if someone had been sleeping on it, and several plates of half eaten food were stacked up at one end. The fireplace was lit, but almost burned down to embers, casting a dim light over the sitting room. Jaskier took in the small accoutrements of wealth that were displayed around the room, like the well-crafted furniture, rich upholstery, and heavily ornamented decorations. It was clear that Lucy’s partner was well off, but had only been so for a relatively short time, as he still lived outside of the city walls in one of the cheaper neighbourhoods.

“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to a pair of armchairs across from the sofa.

“Thank you.” Jaskier replied, nudging Geralt into one of the chairs, and taking the other for himself.

“Now, what can I help you with?” The man asked, settling himself on top of the mound of blankets covering the sofa.

“You’re Bartch, correct?” Jaskier asked, pulling out his notebook and turning to a new page. The man nodded.

“Please, call me Calico. Everyone else does.” Bartch said, relaxing slightly.

“I'm Jaskier, and this is my friend Geralt of Rivia.” Geralt gave a nod of acknowledgement. “We’re looking into Lucy’s disappearance on behalf of Alvin, the miller.” Jaskier explained, trying to put the man at ease. Calico nodded again. “Could you just talk us through what happened on the night before Lucy went missing?” Jaskier asked.

“We were in town, for a business dinner.” Calico began. “It was regarding a fabric import from Toussaint, nothing too important but you know what southerners are like, any excuse to show off their wealth and good tastes.” He smiled wryly. “After that, we went to a couple of taverns with my associates, Wiseham and Gotaard. After that we left town and I walked her home, to her father’s mill. That was the last I saw of her.”

“You stopped at the mill?” Geralt interrupted. “Didn’t walk her all the way home, why?”

“That’s just what we’ve always done.” He replied. “The road beyond the mill gets awfully muddy, and Lucy always says she doesn’t want me to ruin my boots.”

“Hmm. It’s the middle of summer, how muddy could it be?” Geralt mused.

“Aye sir, it’ll be bone dry now, but we had that awful rain the day before we went to the meeting. I’d have been up to my ankles in it.” Geralt nodded, snatching the notebook from Jaskier lap and started writing something.

“Was she acting strangely? What did you talk about before she left, anything out of the ordinary?” Jaskier asked, frowning at Geralt until he handed the book back. It had ‘ _wet mud, now dry. Footprints?’_ scrawled underneath Jaskier's flowing handwriting.

“No sir, it was just like every other meeting we’ve been to.” Calico sighed. “We spoke about business while we were there, then at the tavern we spoke about how, once we eventually marry, she will become my business partner. Then at the mill we said our goodnights, but everything was completely normal.”

“Did you notice anyone following you?” Geralt asked. “Lurking in the shadows maybe, or taking the same road as you from a distance?”

“I can’t say that I did.” Calico replied. “As soon as I left the mill I walked the same road back into town, so surely I’d have run into anyone following us?”

“Hmm.” Geralt said, with a curt nod. He rose from his chair, dragging Jaskier up by the shoulder. “We have all we need. Thank you.”

“Oh, yes, okay.” Jaskier muttered. “Thank you very much Calico, leave it with us.” He smiled as he was being slowly dragged toward the door.

“Okay? Uhm… Good day!” Calico called after them, as Geralt hurried out of the door, pulling Jaskier along behind him.

“Geralt! What was that about?” Jaskier said, trotting behind him as Geralt walked briskly back towards the town. “Where are we going?”

“The mill.”

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, please leave me comments, kudos, critiques, anything! If you've got something to say then go for it!


End file.
